While I was setting up the new format of this site, I was trying to think of things to write about. Then I realized "Why bother opening your mouth? It's all been said by now."
A poem about spiders
This is not your grandfather's Ramblin' Boy. And the lyrics are not from the versions by Tom Paxton or Joan Baez. Listening to Tom Paxton after this is like listening to Pat Boone sing "Blueberry Hill," nice, but just nice.
Do spiders have a "thing" for clean windows? Do they lie in wait for you to wash the glass before they come out in the spring? Or is it just coincidence, timing—both spiders and window cleaning being part of the rites of spring?